


familiar face to guide me home (with you i never felt alone)

by coffee_music_books



Category: Saving Hope
Genre: F/F, I promise, Maggie will actually appear live and in person later, but apparently this show messed me up worse than i thought, this wasn't supposed to be multi chapter, what happened when Dr. Katz left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-05 00:50:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_music_books/pseuds/coffee_music_books
Summary: A small part of you thinks the distance from Maggie will be good for you. But you don't dwell on that.ORWhat happened while Sydney was away in Israel, and what brought her home.





	1. when i wake up and i'm all alone (i can feel it)

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from When I Look Back by In the City (a Lintz anthem in my humble opinion)
> 
> I don't own Saving Hope. If I did, I'd put it on Netflix and renew it for a 6th season.

You were ready to leave and say goodbye to this place. And then Maggie kissed you.

 

She was always one of your weaknesses. You were so good at having none. Younger than everyone, a woman, and just a little bit small, but always smart, spitfire and quick and clever in ways that allowed you to dance circles around many of your peers.

 

But never her.

 

She made you stumble and question, falter with nerves and give pause when you hadn't. She made you uproot your life, question your faith and force you to be brave. To be happy. Claire makes you feel anxious and giddy in ways that boys never could. She's pretty and kind, simple, and she understands your culture and heritage because she's a part of it. Meeting her in Tel Aviv should be exciting. Which it is, but you can't help the  _what if_ s in your mind. 

 

You can't help seeing Maggie's face in your dreams.

 

You avoid goodbyes like the plague and you tell Maggie so. She makes a half-hearted attempt to talk you out of leaving, citing your patient and forcing the reality of distance upon you, as though you didn't already know.

 

A small part of you thinks the distance from Maggie will be good for you. But you don't dwell on that. Ever.

 

But then she sighs, scans your face with those big, big brown eyes of hers. She leans in and kisses you, short and soft and sweet, and before you can commit the feeling perfectly to memory, she pulls away.

 

"I owed you one," she says, smiling that crooked half-smile that you can't get out of your head. And then you walk away and leave her, Hope Zion, and the shambles of your old life behind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Israel will be everything you never let yourself dream_ you think as you settle into your seat on the flight. You look at your phone background, the picture of you and Claire lighting up. The two of you look so happy and carefree. She brings with her so few complications. She doesn't know all of your personal history, can't totally read you like a book or even understand you one-hundred percent of the time. (She says you talk too fast when you're excited. She's the first person who's ever tried to slow you down.) 

 

You were at the park together when you took that picture, a selfie, and she's kissing you on the cheek. The sunlight leaps off of her blonde hair and you can make out her freckles when you look closely. You feel yourself smile. Things with her are good. Easy.

 

It's what you want in a relationship. Right?

 

The plane takes off and you settle more solidly in your seat. You swallow a small white pill. Ambien, for the red eye flight you elected to take. You pull your headphones over your ears and lay your head back and try to sleep.

 

In your dreams you see bright sunshine and rolling hills covered in beautiful blooming flowers. And Maggie, with her whole-face smile and newly long hair blowing over her shoulders. She reaches her hand for you, and you can feel the softness of her skin. You can smell her lavender perfume and hear her laugh and see her deep dimples. When she leans in to kiss you, you taste her fruity chapstick and feel her fingertips against your cheek.

 

You wake up with a start, guilt settling low in your belly. Your heart is racing and you feel the burning heat of tears behind your eyes. 

 

You don't sleep for the rest of the flight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sunlight in Israel is bright and harsh through the windows of the airport. You begin to sweat in anticipation of the stifling heat that you knew to expect. When you finally make it through customs, Claire is waiting for you with flowers and her biggest smile and wide, open arms. You run to her like the giddy excited girlfriend she's expecting, and she peppers your cheeks with kisses and giggles.

 

She pulls away, holding your face in her hands. "Let's go home," she says, and you release a long breath. 

 

You didn't know seeing your girlfriend, who loves you, would make you so nervous.

 

Israel is at the precipice of experiencing a severe shortage of physicians, so obtaining licensing is as quick as a bureaucratic process can be. You pass the Hebrew proficiency with ease, and before you know it, you're a practicing obstetrician in Tel Aviv. 

 

Living with Claire comes easy. She's neat and quiet and she can bake, and you two settle into a comfortable routine. You talk to her late at night about missing home, missing your family and your old friends. 

 

You mention Maggie very sparingly.

 

If Claire notices that you fidget more when you bring up Maggie, or that you make less eye contact, she doesn't mention it. She doesn't seem threatened in the slightest.

 

And why would she? You moved across the world for her.

 

Sometimes, when you're in bed with her, you wake up with a racing heart and not-Claire's-name on your lips. Sometimes, during breakfast, you'll suddenly feel the memory of her lips on yours, and you come back to the present with your fingertips at the corner of your mouth and a blush on your cheeks. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You always prided yourself on your intelligence. You looked for the same quick-witted capability in your partners. Of course, until recently, you'd blamed your lack of interest in romance on your pickiness.  _None of them are smart enough for me_ , you'd think with fierce determination.  _And that's it_.

 

Claire is smart. She's playful with you in ways that only an intelligent person would understand. She rivals your sass and keeps her chin high when she knows she's bested you.

 

She's too smart to not begin to notice.

 

She's observant, even though she can't quite read you still. But she notices when you stare at a brunette with short hair when you're out. She must feel you startling awake at night, or turning away from her in tears. She's walked into the kitchen in the morning and seen your far away look and called your name, asked if you're okay.

 

She knows she's getting close when she asks about Maggie out of the blue.

 

"Honey?" she calls, sitting on the off-white couch with a book in her lap. Her socked feet are resting against the coffee table, and she has a knit blanket draped over the tops of her legs. When you walk in, she smiles innocently.

 

"What's up?" you ask, pausing with your hands on your waist and facing her. You're careful not to cross your arms over your chest. Claire says it makes you look combative.

 

"I was just thinking," she starts.  _Uh oh_ filters across your mind. You feel your breath get shallow. "Whatever happened to that girl you were teaching?"

 

You raise your eyebrows.  _Play dumb_ , a voice says in the back of your mind.  _That'll work flawlessly_. It sounds suspiciously like Maggie, and suspiciously facetious.

 

Claire closes the book in her lap and sits up straight. "You used to talk about this girl when we were first dating. She was your student--I think. Maggie? Right?" You take a breath at Maggie's name on Claire's lips. You're confused and you have the undeniable heavy weight of guilt in your belly. "What ever happened to her?"

 

You'd assumed if you didn't talk about Maggie, didn't see Maggie--you moved across the world for goodness sake--she'd vanish from your mind for good. But even Claire can feel her presence in your home together. Poor Claire. She doesn't deserve that. "Maggie's fine, I think. I don't really talk to her anymore."

 

Claire's eyebrows draw in to the middle and she narrows her eyes. "You used to talk about her all the time." You shrug. "But not anymore. Did something happen between you two? Did you fight?"

 

You feel your guilt get heavier, weighing your body down. You wonder if it'll drag you through the floor of the apartment. You wonder if God is watching you closely, monitoring your behavior for future karma or curses. You don't want to say the wrong thing.

 

You look away and at the floor and take a breath. Your hands fold in front of your belly and your thumbs are fiddling--an old nervous habit--and you chance looking at Claire. She's so kind, and she looks so innocent, her blue eyes open and honest. You don't think she'd hate you if you told her the truth about Maggie, about what Maggie was-- _is_ \--to you. But you don't think you could hurt her like that and still look at yourself in the mirror. "No, no," you say, forcing a smile. You hope it doesn't look as much like a grimace as it feels. "Nothing like that."

 

Claire smiles. "Then where'd she go?"

 

You grin. " _I'm_ the one that left, sweetheart. I came to you." You walk over and settle next to her on the couch, taking her hands in yours. "Maggie and I just sort of," you shrug, "grew apart in the end."

 

The lie feels sour on your tongue, and you haven't looked Claire in the eye again yet. You feel her body's light shakes as she nods in acceptance. She doesn't press it any further. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fighting starts soon thereafter.

 

You suppose you should've seen it coming. Claire is more nervous around you, and working in the nearby hospital has you edgy and stressed and always so tired. Your patience is thin at the time you need it most. You understand why everyone seems to blame timing for just about everything. But you know better than to just blame timing for this one.

 

You're bitter and at each other's throats more often than not. Walking down the streets of Tel Aviv together used to be fun and carefree, warm with conversation and touches and smiles. Now it's all stiff movements and cold spaces and silence, sharp with your bodies angled away from one another.

 

Claire starts to have trouble sleeping, and you both have matching heavy bags under your eyes. You sleep when you can at home, but call rooms are smaller and less common in the hospital in Tel Aviv, and walking into one of them reminds you of Maggie. You feel that heartbreak freshly each time, and you don't have the energy to cry now. So when you pull long shifts you're generally awake the whole time. 

 

As things with Claire get worse, you look for excuses to be out more. After the hospital you go straight to a hookah bar and drink one glass of red wine as slowly as you can. You can't get drunk; you're worried who you'd call if you did. You can make a glass of wine last about an hour, so you wait forty minutes at the bar before you order it, and then wait fifty minutes after it's gone before you go home.

 

You go to sleep after Claire and she wakes up before you, so you really only have time to fight on the occasional lunch break, if you decide to come home.

 

You don't decide to come home much.

 

Dreams about Maggie come more frequently. You see her smile, hear her laughter and feel her skin against yours. You picture dates with her. Things you'd always wanted to do with your partner, you're doing in your dreams with Maggie. Sailing together in the Mediterranean Sea, both dressed in white and holding glasses of bubbly. Touring the Lourve and taking pictures with the Mona Lisa, or going to the St. Peter's Basilica and smiling with the Venus de Milo. Meeting her parents, cooking them dinner in an apartment you both live in. Coming home to the bed covered in rose petals and the room littered with candles, Maggie waiting for you in lingerie and hooded eyes. Proposing to her in Jerusalem.

 

The more of the dreams you have, the less you talk to Claire, until you're having the dreams every night and speaking a handful of words to Claire a week.

 

The breakup comes on a Wednesday. Wednesdays are Claire's days off. Usually she spends them outside, jogging along the beach or reading at a table at the cafe nearby. Today, when you come home for lunch--you forgot your salad in the fridge on your way out, and now you think it was fate--Claire is waiting for you on the couch. Her eyes are red and puffy, her gaze glassy and body stiff. For the first time you notice how thin and frail she looks. Her golden hair looks waxen, her cheeks sallow. 

 

"Claire, what's wrong?" You two have been on different wavelengths that you don't even know if something is going on with her friends or her family. "Is everything okay?"

 

She looks at you with the combined grief and hatred that only and ex can have. You understand immediately.

 

"This isn't working," she says, her voice hoarse but strong. You look and her and nod, and she narrows her eyes. Her upper lip curls into a sneer, which you've never seen on her face before, and you feel your heart quicken with nerves. "I think there's someone else."

 

You feel gutted immediately. "Are you  _cheating_ on me?"

 

"Sydney,  _no_ , absolutely not." She's eerily calm when she swallows and closes her eyes. She seems to steel herself, and when she opens her eyes and looks at you, it's with concern and love and loss all at once. "I think you need to go home."

 

You cross your arms and shift your weight to one leg. "What the hell are you talking about? This is my home."

 

Claire looks pained. "Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"

 

You rear back, confused. "Um, no. What does that have anything to do with us?" You take two steps toward her, careful to maintain distance but unable to fully stop your hostility.

 

Claire nods. She looks so kind, even when she's clearly upset with you, defeated even. "One night a few weeks ago, I woke up because I heard you. You were--I guess moaning in your sleep?" You shake your head.  _So_ _?_   "You weren't really saying any words, you just sounded so  _upset_ and I didn't know what to do." She pauses as tears well in her eyes and slip down her cheeks. "And then you said her name, and you smiled." She gasps and wipes her cheeks. "You said 'I love you, Maggie' in your sleep in bed with me."

 

All of the color must leave your face in an instance. "Oh, Claire, honey, no-" you start to say, but she raises a hand abruptly and you stop.

 

"No, don't." She looks betrayed by your attempts to calm her. "I asked you what ever happened to Maggie the next day, and when you didn't give me an answer _at all_  I know." She swallows and her tears continue to fall. "Syd, you clearly still love her. And while you love her, you can't love me." You start to shake your head, feeling your own tears begin to fall. "You need to go home."

 

Your protests are feeble at best, and they go completely unheard. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You planned to take your time moving out, booking flights back to the states and looking for apartments. But then you get an email.

 

Your sister Rebecca is sick, really sick, and pregnant, and you leave two days later. You guess everything fell right into place neatly.

 

You finally give in to your months-long curiosity and look up Maggie's social media on the flight home.

 

You notice she's growing her hair out, and you see pictures of her smiling with her old friends--your old friends--from the hospital, with her family. You don't see a significant other, boy or girl, or at least any evidence of one, and you don't acknowledge the massive weight that lifts off your chest at that. Mostly, you just see that she's happy. And that she looks every bit as beautiful as you remember and more.

 

You spend the rest of your flight researching treatment options for Becca. Coincidences seem to be a common theme in your life right now, because you stumble upon Maggie again. You read any and all information you can find on her cancer study and spend your first hours off the plane convincing Becca to let you take her there.

 

And that's how you find yourself back in Hope Zion, looking sheepishly over your shoulder at who you now truly believe is the love of your life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. illuminate my path tonight (you can make the darkness light)

Becca is receptive about the research. She's cautious around you, a strange combination of guilt and trepidation in her eyes when she regards you. You've been gone for so long, absent from the family for even longer. Becca must see a stranger when she looks at you. 

 

You accept her wariness, swallowing your pride and resigning to be a constant presence for her as she deals with the complications of her cancer and pregnancy. Her hair is starting to thin already from the chemotherapy, her skin adopting that paleness that you're familiar with. Becca never understood how you could choose to be a doctor, especially after hearing about some of your cases. You wonder if God knew Becca would need you, and that's why you were always so passionate about medicine.

 

Sometimes you wonder if you've ever made any of the choices in your life yourself, or if it was all this grand plan from the beginning. 

 

You wonder if Maggie is or was ever a part of that plan.

 

Becca's pain starts to worsen, and you worry about her complications. You pack her up and move her from General to Hope Zion, and when you leave to get yourself some water you already hear Becca arguing with the resident that came to see her. "Please, just go get Dr. Maggie Lin." 

 

Wandering the hallways of Hope Zion, you feel like it's both completely different and yet exactly the same. You were once a staple here, and now you feel like a stranger. Still, you remember running around shouting about emergencies, adjusting your white coat and glasses and talking  _at_ a tall, thin girl with more potential than you'd ever seen in a resident. Maggie back then was younger, more naive, but clearly brilliant. She was rough around the edges and wore her heart on her sleeve and worked as hard as you pushed her and then harder still.

 

You remember pacing, glancing warily through a window at that same girl, lying still in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around her head. Your body shudders at the memory. You were so sure she was going to die. You feel your stomach turn with the ghost of that fear. 

 

You remember walking into her room in the ICU, her eyes open and smiling as she recognizes you. You remember the fluttering of your heart and your antsy body as relief flooded you. "As I live and breathe," she'd said. You remember touching her skin, cold under the blow of the air conditioner, and clammy from trauma. You remember her grip tightening on your fingers as she asked you to stay.

 

You remember her kissing you right before you turned around and left her behind. 

 

As you walk back into Rebecca's room, you see her body draw tight with pain and you rush to her. "Keep breathing," you say, because it's the only thing you can do. In your periphery, you see Maggie draw back when she hears your voice as though she's been shocked. Becca's breathing speeds up and she's yelling at you, frustrated with pain and your uselessness and her body betraying her. "Slower, Rivka. Slow down," you say, keeping your voice soothing. As her body calms, you chance a look over your shoulder.

 

Maggie smiles at you like she's seen a ghost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The man-boy doctor leaves when Becca calms, and Maggie pulls on a pair of gloves to examine her. She's calm, cool, collected, the picture of professionalism as she observes Becca and keeps a careful distance from you. You wax poetic about her study, her impressiveness, as if you weren't already intimately aware of how talented she is.

 

Becca looks between the two of you with a question in her eyes, though she never asks it, and she grimaces when Maggie tries to include you. You're delicate and polite as you refuse. It's not a good idea, what with your parents already on their way. You remind yourself through the familiar sting of family rejection that the only priority right now is Becca's recovery.

 

Every time Maggie looks at you, her body seems to tighten. It's as though your presence alone is enough to hurt her. She's guilty and gentle when she tells you that the study is over, that she can't help Becca. You hold back your tears and you think you're imagining it when you see some in Maggie's eyes. It's alright, you tell her, at least Becca will have her. It's the one thing you always saw in Maggie: her skill.

 

Your compliment is subtle and she looks awkward as you breach her barrier of professionalism. "You look good, Maggie." You see her throat bob as she swallows thickly, and you turn and walk away. You can feel Maggie's eyes on you the entire time.

 

You don't really know where you're going, but you know you have to get away from Becca, from Maggie, from all of it. You duck into an empty hallway, a deserted area of the hospital today, and you finally let yourself cry.

 

You cry over Becca, over the disappointment of not getting her into Maggie's study soon enough. You mourn the loss of your family, a wound that never really heals. You cry over all that you've gone through in the last year just to be able to be yourself and be happy. You sob for lost love, a broken opportunity half a world away. And you even shed some tears for the what-might-have-been you just left behind again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You're not sure how long you sit there, back to the wall and face in your hands. You rarely used to cry, but over the last few months you've been crying a lot. Over Hershel, over yourself, over your family. Over Maggie. 

 

The tears begin to slow, finally, and you set your shoulders before turning back to Becca's room. When you walk in, Maggie's already begun telling her the study is over, that there's nothing they can do for her that isn't already being done.

 

Becca was always a fiery personality, for better and for worse. You're not surprised when she turns her disappointment into a weapon of anger and aims for you. She attacks everything from your trying to help her get into the study to your life choices, and your defensive despite your better judgement. Becca shows her hand when she yells at you for never saying anything to her. She's younger than you by a few years and you'd always wanted to protect her more than you wanted to confide in her, and that mentality carried over when you came out.

 

You didn't realize how painful shutting her out must have been, but you see the months-old resentment in her glare and feel it pierce your heart. She's quick to recover and apologize, but it all gets lost in translation as her body stiffens. Becca cries out in pain, her face twisted and contorted before she finally falls asleep, and you try to follow her to the OR. You're panicked and frantic and not even thinking about how you don't work here anymore, that Becca isn't your patient and you're not allowed to help. You feel like you're floating and out of control.

 

Maggie's grip on your shoulders centers you again. "Syd," she all-but yells in your face. "I've got her." Her voice is insistent and strong and leaves no room for argument. When you look into Maggie's eyes, you can feel her fierce determination. She understands how important Becca is, this last piece of family that still seems to believe in you.

 

Though it goes against every instinct screaming in your body, you stay put and watch them wheel your sister away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie tells you which operating room Becca is being prepped in via text and you go running for it. You beat Maggie there, who's prepping herself for surgery. Becca's body is bleeding on the inside, slowly draining life from her and by extension, her baby. You feel the slightest glimmer of hopelessness. 

 

You aren't waiting on Maggie long, and she has with her the doctor man-boy from earlier in the day. She introduces him as Dr. Scott, and when he glances between your worried face and Maggie's, you can tell he knows something's up. He must not be as daft as he looks.

 

You're babbling in teacher-mode at Maggie, gestating and shaking with your nerves. The truth is, Becca's situation is bad. Worse than you thought, even. You're barely pulling it together for Becca, and you're not sure if you'd be able to if Maggie weren't here, with you, the picture of calm assurance. 

 

You can see it in Becca's eyes that she believes she's going to die. Her only concern is for her baby, and the steel determination in her features, you know, is all for him. Still, you feel her gratitude when she attempts to apologize for not protecting you better. You don't want to do this big goodbye, here-are-my-regrets-in-case-I-don't-make-it moment that Becca seems intent on making happen. You feel Maggie's eyes on you from outside the doorway, and you feel stifled. There are so many relationships that need mending in your life: with your parents, with Becca, Claire. Maggie. You feel their expectations weighing heavily on you, and you have the itch in your muscles telling you to run.

 

But you don't want to run anymore.

 

You're well-traveled, having lived out of a suitcase and studied all over the world. Tel Aviv, London, the United States. You recognize the feeling of being temporary. Though it wasn't the entire motivation, you know that a part of you was excited about marrying Hershel all of those months ago because you felt like you were finally settling down, establishing roots, making a home. Right now, standing in the place you left behind and glancing between the clock and Becca's sleeping face through the window, you feel like the only roots keeping you grounded come from Maggie.

 

You can see Dr. Scott looking between you and Maggie, piecing together whatever it is that exists in your history. You wonder if he can feel the freshness of Maggie's hurt through her calculated exterior, or the rawness of your desire for her in the quick of your core. You're anxious and pacing and floundering for a distraction from the uncertainty of Becca's fate, so you begin to think about the only thing that keeps you calm.

 

Maggie looks different than she did in the weeks following her accident. She seems more secure in herself, calmer and smoother and more resilient. You wonder if you left behind a trauma in her when you boarded that plane to Tel Aviv. You wonder if your hurt helped shape her into who she is now. But when you look into her eyes, you still see that same bleeding heart you remembered from your early mentoring days with her. She internalizes her patients' pain, their families' concern, and you're surprised and warmer when you realize you and Becca are no different. Maggie is thoughtful and considerate every step of the way, acknowledging and placating Becca's fears and listening diligently to your defensive logic.

 

You wonder briefly what Maggie's feeling when she interacts with you. Is she as nervous as you are, worried about making a new first impression on the girl she's known in so many different ways for years? Does she still think about your past, or has she laid it to rest? 

 

Did she get over you?

 

It's a painful concept, you think, the idea that Maggie's moved on from you. Seeing her jumpstarts your heart the same way it always has. Her smile makes your palms sweaty like it always used to, and her gaze makes you feel like a giant and also impossibly small. You look for her around corners, in doorways as you walk down the halls, and feel the same disappointment you always used to when you don't see her.

 

You still feel the same urges to kiss her every time you look into her eyes.

 

You wonder if her skin is still as soft, if her hair is as thick as it was now that it's longer. If you were to kiss her, would she rock her body the way she did in the call room? Would she scratch her fingernails against the back of your neck and nibble on your lip?

 

Does she want to feel your skin again as much as you want to feel hers?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, Maggie makes the most aggressive choice. She listened to you and used her best judgment. She made the right choice.

 

You don't see the doubt in her eyes you used to see when she was younger. You know you were right to trust her.

 

Becca is most likely going to be fine, you tell your parents. You use as few words as possible and try to ignore the disdain in your mother's eyes, or the way she repeats everything you say to your father as though you're not even there. As soon as you can, you retreat from them and go wait for Maggie to be out of surgery.

 

Relief washes through you, finally. You take what feels like the first breath in _days_. Becca's going to be fine, most likely. And her child has Maggie to thank for Becca's life and for his. You're proud of Maggie as a mentor, and you feel your love for her grow in your chest.

 

You can't wait to see the joy in her eyes as she relays the success to you. You know the adrenaline will still be leaking from her body, the stress and nerves that come with standing in front of a person with their life literally in your hands. In obstetrics, the pressure is often double because, well, double the lives. Sometimes even more than that.

 

Maggie talks to you like a patient's family member. She's careful and cautious with you in ways that you don't like. She keeps a careful distance and only looks at you when she absolutely must. You don't like it.

 

In the moment, you know what you have to do.

 

Maggie is nervous to get to close to you again. You can't tell if she's afraid of you, of your power to hurt her again. You hope you aren't imagining, though, the hope in her eyes when she tries to make dinner plans with you.

 

When you see it, you decide you can't ever leave her again.

 

"There's something I have to tell you," you say. "I thought it could wait, but it can't, so, uh, just listen."

 

She looks terrified when she says okay.

 

And then you tell her the truth. You thought about her every second you were gone--especially when you were trying  _not_ to--and you know it's a sign. You're ready to dive into this thing you think you two have. She's the only regret you think you've ever had. In the face of your family's rejection, Becca's confused hurt and guilt towards you, and the awkwardness around the other doctors who've all taken Maggie's side, you think you should feel small and scared and alone. But here, looking at Maggie's open, judgment-less eyes and her beautiful beautiful face, you only feel strength.

 

The strength is what pushes you to kiss her. You feel her respond immediately in that old familiar way. She leans in towards you, releasing a soft breath through her nose and pressing her forehead to yours. 

 

She  _is_ as soft and responsive as she always was. She  _is_ as warm and raw as she was the very first time. You'd even venture to say that she wanted to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss her. 

 

"I wanna find out if we can  _be_ something," you say, smiling softly and looking her straight in the eyes. You feel your pulse rush and your cheeks warm and you're nervous in the best possible way. You've never really felt this way before, this giddy excitedness. You don't know how you went so long missing it. "I just need to know if you do too."

 

You don't give Maggie time to respond, walking into Becca's room quietly to get your things and check on her. As you leave the hospital, you feel a strange sense of calm. You're not entirely certain why, but you're sure things with Maggie are going to be okay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Years later, sitting in your living room on the couch with her head in your lap, you think about that day and smile. 

 

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, smile soft and eyes closed. Your fingers are threaded in her hair and you're scratching her scalp. You think Maggie is a little like a cat. She's so calm with you like this, open and carefree and trusting.

 

You shrug. "You were the only almost I ever thought about," you say. "But I don't think you were ever actually an almost. I think that God had a plan for me, and it was always you, and I just needed to grow up enough to deserve it."

 

The way she smiles at you, bright like the sun and warm with love, you may never get used to.

 

 


End file.
